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300th Post, Ruined By a Jerkface

Well it’s Happy 300th B(itch)es! I had this great post planned. I was going to do a lot of photos. Funny stuff. A list of confessions. And gunk about anniversaries and getting busy.

Then this total jerkface ruined my mood, so we’re sticking to the theme of B(ITCH)LOG for this one. This will probably be more comical than my list of confessions. And you guys didn’t want to know about how infrequently I shave my legs, or about that time in Cabo I always reference anyway…

This weekend whilst I canned pickles and sun-dried tomatoes and shit, the husband broke out the Halloween decorations to keep little hands busy so they weren’t touching my canned goods. It’s a little premature (Halloween being over a month away) but regardless of that, it was a helpful distraction and – anyway – it’s our home so we can do whatever the fuck we want. You don’t see me complaining to anyone because the neighbor has had fake weapons made out of foil with red marker-blood drawn on them hanging from his window since we moved here. No one’s come up dead so I figure he’s into that freaky, gothic crap. I didn’t storm outside screaming when the guy across the way sat on his porch in his tighty-whiteys scratching his balls and smoking for an hour one day last week.

If I want fucking pumpkins and maize and shit around my house, I’ll fucking have pumpkins and maize and shit around my house. What you do in/on your space is your business. As long as it’s legal and nobody gets hurt, of course.

And anyway, our decorations are relatively modest. There is a little fall display on our kitchen table that I made Saturday (pictured above), which sits at the foot of my large Buddha. (This just inspired my uber-Catholic father to ask if I was presenting offerings to Buddha and, thus, going to hell. That was a fun pseudo-Catholic-joke-gone-wrong on his part.) We have a skeleton in the bathroom that laughs when you flush the toilet. There’s a little, glittery mummy on the breakfast table. Some cobwebs and lights on the indoor trees. And my third-string boyfriend “Boney” (for his massive, invisible boner) hanging from my pot and pan rack.

You can imagine then how I felt when this middle-aged nerd in Harry Caray glasses, with a pot belly hanging over his belt and sweat dripping from his brow, knocked on my fucking door to inform me that our fall decor offended him. Motherfucker said it “offended” his “senses.”

#1: It’s September and the last time I checked there is fall shit everywhere. The only things we have outside are a little skeleton thing that he probably did not see, it is so out of the way; and the scarecrow sitting between our two deck chairs.

#2: Even if Halloween were a fucking millennia away, fall is later this week. Therefore, a scarecrow – unambiguously a fall decoration – is totally acceptable.

#3: If I wanted to plaster my entire front porch with lighted signs that say “Happy Halloween Dickweed in the Harry Caray glasses!!!” with neon orange lights blaring until four o’clock in the morning, it’s my right to do so. I pay rent the same way this dillhole does. I pay my share of the community water bills, likely as high as they are because of this dude’s extra need for summer douching. I have just as much a right to display what I want as he does to display any nerd convention shit he may choose to display on his front porch. My. Fucking. Right.

So I told that jerkface to mind his business and get off my porch.

My retaliation to this anally bleached king of the middle-aged nerds is going to begin tomorrow and not end until Valentine’s Day. From now until then, I will be decorating our apartment prematurely for every holiday I can possibly find decorations for. And I’m doing it big. We’re talking blaring lights. We’re talking shit that talks and scares the crap out of you when you walk by it. We’re talking Christmas before Thanksgiving. Valentine’s Day on January 3rd. I want to blow this middle-aged a-hole back to a time when people minded their own fucking business and just shut the fuck up once in a while.

It’s going to be great.

Happy 300, faithful blog followers! You can see my psychosis and foul-mouthed antics still reign supreme after all this time. I suppose it’s best that I was in true form anyway for this blessed post. Maybe one day in the future I’ll finally do that confessions blog and tell about the scandal in Cabo…

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33 thoughts on “300th Post, Ruined By a Jerkface”

I love your post. I love your blog. But you know what I love most? I LOVE the fact that you are putting my foulmouthed bartender-ass to shame while playing Martha Stewart! Awesome. You troll this guy’s ass sister. Hell hath no fury like a pissed off mommy with some day-glow spider webbing and a hot glue gun.

This is the reason that dollar stores were invented — FILL that area with the most horrible decor you can imagine! LOVE IT. As for him taking your skeleton down, it’s ON! This is yet another reason why I love living in the country — no close neighbors to complain about us!

I can not believe the nerve some douche bags have. Seriously! You also forgot you can decorate for Easter, bunnies, eggs ducks. You could even put Jesus on your lawn . . . I am Catholic by the way so I think it is okay to joke. I hope!

I’m so sick and tired (and offended by) of all these people and their stupid “I’m offended by……..” stances on everything from genetically modified food to holiday decorations to my particular stance on religion. Shut the fuck up already and mind your own business! Good for you telling him off, and yes, you probably would be better off to find a nice house somewhere, even if you just rented. 😉

I think you should volunteer a couple hours at a local kindergarten class to teach a holiday ‘art project’ that results in you r bringing home some of the MOST garish decorations ever to be strewn around the front of your house. He’ll never say another word.

Who the hell has the nerve to tell the neighbors that their low key decoration offend them. Not only to do that but to actually go so far as to knock on your door to tell you this and not just in jest while passing you on the sidewalk. What an asshat!